


Orange and Cardamom

by needleyecandy



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needleyecandy/pseuds/needleyecandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is a world-famous chef who seems to have everything in life he could want.</p><p>In truth, he does. Except for what he wants most of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orange and Cardamom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thorduna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/gifts).



> Thorduna very conveniently posted a request for a foody fic right when I felt like a break from the other stuff I was working on, and here we are.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was hardly the first time Thor had faced something like this. He'd cooked for the harshest of critics, the ones that had other chefs shaking in their boots and their tall white hats, and seen them off with tears of bliss in their eyes, their knees still quaking from the devastating brilliance of his white chocolate pots de crème, licking their lips frantically for the last traces of the delicate caramel glaze that had gilded the rich dessert. There was a reason that Thor had _two_ Michelin stars and a reservation list six months long. He was twenty-seven and he loved to take risks and he looked great on the covers of international culinary magazines.

People built their vacations around when they might get a table. Last year he had received a letter of commendation from the city; winter tourism to Oslo had measurably increased since Thor had left Paris and moved back home to open his own restaurant. The menu of _Le Chateau Norvegien_ was built around the hearty flavors of his childhood as interpreted by his classically French training. Gravlaks became an ethereal salmon mousse, lightly sweet and so delicately salted, the pepper and dill lingering on the palate like the memory of a whirlwind romance. His kjottkaker were satisfyingly dense yet bore no trace of heaviness; indeed, one could hardly be judged for mistaking the delicate sauce, with its hints of brunost and a whirl of lingonberry, for the crest of sunlight that gilds the clouds in evening.

No, it was hardly the first time Thor had faced something like this. But it was the first time he had faced _this_.

Sonja was looking at him pleadingly. She still held the receiver to her ear, her hand clapped over the mouthpiece. "It's an editor from Gastronomica. They want to send a journalist to eat here tomorrow." That wasn't the problem; it was customary for them to keep a table reserved for a critic, and release it to someone on their waiting list if no critic booked it. The problem was what she said next. "They have an expert in Norwegian food flying in from San Francisco. Thor... it's your brother."

Loki had left home even before Thor, moving first to London and then to New York to study and understudy in culinary criticism, before semi-settling in California to work for the crucially influential periodical.

"Is the table free tomorrow?" She nodded, and he sighed. "Then tell them he should be here at seven-thirty."

There was only one seating per day. There was no menu. Thor cooked what he felt inspired to cook and people sat there and ate it and they were grateful for the opportunity. Loki would be treated no differently than any other customer.

The fact that Thor happened to feel inspired to cook all of Loki's childhood favorites was purely coincidental. He arrived at le Chateau at five the next morning to boil the potatoes for the lefse. Once he had them chilling, he went out to the early market, particularly hoping to find both cloud berries and lingonberries for the bløtkake. He was in luck, and by the time the staff began arriving to prepare for that evening, he had the cake in the oven, the lingonberry sauce cooling, and the cabbage shredded.

The day passed in a blur of chopping and directing and (thank heavens) only three meltdowns from the sous-chef, Ivor. The guests began arriving at seven-fifteen. At seven-twenty, Sonja abandoned her post just long enough to peek in the kitchen door and hiss, "he's here!"

There was an unobtrusive camera in the dining room, letting Thor watch the reactions of their patrons as each new course appeared before them. He paused in his work and turned on the monitor.

The sight of his brother was a shock, though it shouldn't have been. It had been nine years, after all; Thor had grown and changed, and of course Loki had to as well. Yet in his mind his little brother was still _little_ , all delicate bones and body still not quite shed of all its baby fat. And sometime since then, Loki had become a man. His dark hair was long and worn severely back; his long coltish limbs were still slender but had filled out. He would be covered in lean muscles, now, beneath that carefully tailored suit.

Loki sat there, staring out the window and fiddling with his pen. A slim black notebook sat on the table, crowding his napkin. The warm lamps that lined the room caught every angle of his face.

At seven-thirty-six, the first course went out. The salad was shaved rhubarb, its tartness balanced by rypebryst, seasoned just the way their grandmother had done. The whole was dressed with a light currant and port sauce, the sort of thing a Cumberland sauce dreamt of becoming.

Thor watched as Loki took four bites, chewing each one as though it were no more than hardtack, before sliding his plate away.

That was how it went with each course to follow. But the monkfish... oh, he remembered how Loki had loved monkfish. _That_ , Thor was sure, he could not resist.

Ivor readied the plates with thin slices of ham drizzled with carrot puree. Katrina was busy with the cabbage, sauteeing it to perfection, while Thor saw to the fish himself.

"Katrina, before me," he ordered as the first fillets reached the peak of perfection.

"Yes, chef!" She picked up her heavy skillet and moved down the row, adding an artful pile to each plate, while he followed behind her, lowering a piece of fish onto each slice of ham. Oydis, new but quick, followed after him, adding the final garnishes. The waiters hovered in readiness, taking up two plates and disappearing into the dining room each time she finished.

Ulf was at the far stove, cooking the lefse; plates of the steaming breads followed quickly on the heels of the fish.

Thor stood aside to watch the diners; unlike most nights, when he would be busying himself with the dessert, the cakes were already assembled. The staff scuttled about, excited to be cleaning up and leaving so early for once.

Loki ate two bites of fish, one of the ham and none of the cabbage, despite it being his favorite (Thor had teased him for such a preference, when they were children; as an adult, he had come to share his brother's feelings for the delicate, crisp leaves), but he ate an entire piece of lefse after coating it heavily with butter and sugar. Thor _thought_ he had even briefly seen Loki close his eyes in bliss.

Thor watched the other diners stare in horror as Loki's plate, still nearly full, was carried back to the kitchen.

Only when the dining room had been without food for twenty minutes - Thor liked to let the air clear after he had served fish - was the cake sliced and portioned. The sponge layers were ethereal, subtly flavored with vanilla to compliment the airy whipped cream. It would have been too much, too sweet, but for the tang of the fresh lingonberry sauce he had layered in the middle. The cloudberries on top looked beautiful against the bright white. Their soft orange shade had always made him think of hope.

Loki ate three berries and did not touch the cake.

 

When the tables were cleared, Thor came out to the dining room. He smiled and nodded through the customary round of applause before making his way around the tables, chatting with everyone who had lingered. Loki had stayed. His table was not placed well to leave him until the end, but Thor managed it. At last, they were alone in the dining room.

Thor took the empty chair across from Loki. Loki gazed at him.

"You didn't like your dinner," Thor said.

"On the contrary. I liked it very much."

"Yet you ate little."

"You made all my favorites," Loki said quietly.

"I did. Where are you staying?" Thor asked.

"The Grand."

"Come home with me."

Loki lowered his eyes. His black lashes dusted across his cheeks and Thor realized with a start that his brother had freckles. So delicate, so faint where they dappled across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. "It would be better if I did not."

"When has that ever stopped either of us?"

"Tell me how you infused the sugar so quickly." Loki picked up his pen and turned to a new page, ready to record Thor's words.

The sugar for the lefse was infused with orange and cardamom, Loki's favorite pairing. When their mother had made cookies with that combination, there was little hope of the rest of the family getting more than one, two at most.

"It is the sugar I always serve. I knew you would give me no warning, when you decided to come home."

Loki put down his pen. The page stayed blank. "I will come with you."

They were quiet in the car. Thor drove first to the hotel, where Loki gathered his things, before continuing to his little house on the edge of the city. Thor felt as though he had found himself in the middle of a hurricane with no recollection of how he had gotten there.

The fight didn't start until the front door closed behind them.

"Let me show you around," Thor said.

"I don't want that."

"What do you want?"

"You already know. And it's too late."

"That wasn't my fault. You know that. It's not hers, either, but you left us both."

The wiry strength Thor had guessed at, beneath the suit, proved true, as Loki slammed him against the wall. "And yet it hurts no less," he hissed.

"He was traditional! You know how he was. It was hard enough to get him to agree to culinary school at all, and there was only money enough for one of us. But Loki... it's not too late."

"I have no interest in being a charity case, the oldest in the class by nearly a decade, sent and paid for by my doting brother."

"And I do not think I can lose you to Paris. But Ivor is leaving, I have a vacancy in my kitchen and a need to fill it."

"You want me to come work for you?" Loki laughed. The spittle hit Thor's face.

"With," Thor said. "Imagine us working side by side. Loki, think of it. We would be unstoppable."

Loki turned away. "Easy to be unstoppable when no one yet living cares to try."

"Let the dead be dead, and come home and  _live_ ," Thor demanded. He emphasized the last word by bringing his fist down on a side table, leaving a crack in the blond wood. 

Loki laughed again. "Ah, there it is. The famous temper."

"Loki," Thor growled.

"I missed it so," Loki whispered, and Thor was lost.

 

"I missed you," Thor told him later, after they had worn themselves to exhaustion. Thor was cooking them a midnight snack while Loki hunted through his wine rack.

"I had to."

"I know. But let that be done. Please."

Loki thought a moment, and nodded.


End file.
